


Bloody Klutz

by humannature_archivist



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-22
Updated: 2010-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6637144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humannature_archivist/pseuds/humannature_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starts with Matt's audition. Escalates into something more. David bumps into Matt on the set, and spills coffee all over the poor lad. Bad times. Then he helps ‘clean up his mess’- with his tongue. Good times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloody Klutz

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Human Nature](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Human_Nature). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [Human Nature collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/humannature/profile).
> 
> * * *
> 
> I haven’t seen nor heard Matt’s audition, so just forget everything you think you know about it, kay?

Russell’s eyes had been rimmed with red since early that morning and the man was complaining- rather loudly, in fact- of his massive migraine. David, for his part, was thickening his accent just to piss the man off so that maybe he could get home a couple hours early. Moffat had simply wandered off half an hour ago, and mumbled that David would know who to pick, and the stupid things were being taped anyways.  
  
The whole damn day had been a right disaster, full of nothing but crap auditions, and so had the ones before it been for the past two weeks. But at least yesterday Barrowman had been there briefly to entertain them, since the prospective ‘Doctors’ certainly were *not*- rather the opposite, in fact. David had almost fallen asleep before the energetic man had shown up, carting along sickeningly sweet latte’s and his trademark megawatt smile. It had been the most intelligent conversation of David’s day, and that was saying something. (No offense to John, but the man had a habit of carrying on about things David did *not* want to hear about, such as Scott’s sweet arse.)  
  
There was no such mercy today, just an endless line of hopeful, untalented actors over-dramatically trying to be the next Doctor. Some of them had been slightly decent, but had not held the certain spark of eccentricity that Moffat was looking for. David looked to Russell as one particularly embarrassing man hopped on one foot and seemed to call to someone far… far away. Russell sighed and clenched his red eyes shut, looking distraught.  
  
“I swear, they told me these grimy bastards had *promise*,” he moaned into David’s shoulder. David himself simply exhaled and sipped at his pop.  
  
“Next, go on then, bring the next joker in here.” Russell waved around frantically. David thought that perhaps Russell had finally gone off the deep end. “Sooner he’s done, the sooner we can get the next one in… and the next one…” Russell’s eyes got a far-off, terrified look in them. Maybe he should just randomly pick the one that made his head hurt the least? It looked almost as if Doctor Who would be doomed at this rate.  
  
David, now bored and slightly depressed, was blatantly ignoring the next bloke that walked in on squeaking trainers, instead marveling at how much grime had accumulated under his thumbnail. He began trying to remove it with his teeth, until-  
  
“Hello there.” The voice was chipper, had perfect intonation, dipped in all the right places and picked up in all the others, and yet had a darker undertone that was alluring. David inclined half an ear. “I’m the Doctor.”  
  
The way he said it, oh-so-confident and very Doctor-ly just as a proper Doctor should, made David look up. The lad was young, much too young, had way too much hair on his head, and was wearing tattered yellow (at least they looked yellow under the dirt and grime caked on) plimsolls and unfashionably fashionable *plaid* braces over a plain navy oxford. There was also a small, trendy black scarf wrapped around the man’s collar, trying in vain to hide the swan neck underneath. He was pretty, but with a wide squashed nose and a broad jaw that very nearly ruined the whole look yet made him somehow appear prettier. His eyes were bright, mischievous- *old*, and deep brown with the slightest hint of green. His hands were burrowed deep in his pockets, but one came up to scratch at his nose, hiding half of that self-satisfied smile that just screamed ‘come into my TARDIS, little girl’ and ‘I’m the Doctor don’t make me shove my sonic screwdriver up your arse’.  
  
David inhaled, smiling at the bloke, relieved.  
  
“Well, *Doctor*, we’ve got Daleks up to our elbows and Cybermen trying to delete humanity from the timeline altogether, now what the hell are you gonna do about that?” He grinned, resting his chin on the palm of his propped arm, waiting for the man’s response.  
  
The boy, “Matt Smith,” Russell helpfully whispered excitedly, simply rocked back on his heels and turned to the now-there (because David had told him it was there) threat, and proceeded to confidently describe just how he was going to get rid of it. David smiled, shifting in his seat self-consciously, because damn this man was good. It almost made him a bit jealous. Matt didn’t just act like a proper Doctor, he thought and spoke like one. From comforting his imaginary companion, to threatening imaginary Cybermen, to claiming his brilliance on his fantastic plan and mixing in just a little bit of a darker side of the Doctor, the boy was extraordinary. David was pulled in, sucked in by the image and just knew, just *knew* that this was the Eleventh Doctor. He clapped slowly at the end of the man’s monologue, enjoying the shy smile he got for his efforts.  
  
“Brilliant. That was simply fantastic. Lock the doors, Shirley, we’re not doing anymore. Send them all off.” He waved the woman away to her task, motioning Matt forward with the same hand.  
  
Russell was beaming with his bloodshot eyes, amazed at how Matt could transform from a brilliant Doctor to this hesitant, stuttering bloke now speaking to David.  
  
“I’ve loved your work as the tenth, r-really. It’s, ah, it’s an honour to follow in your footsteps?” It came out like a question, but David just smiled. Matt was enthusiastically shaking his hand, most likely overwhelmed. David stood and pulled the man into a quick hug, clearly delighted at the compliment. Russell shook his head as the two began talking in depth about the show and then *theatre*, (David of course delighted in having a fellow theatre buff to converse with). He sighed and tottered off when it looked like they weren’t going to let up anytime soon.  
  
Well, at least the auditions were over. Now he could finally go scavenge up some paracetamol.  
  
\--  
  
They were finally filming the last of it. David was officially going to pass the torch on to Matt in less than an hours time- the last twenty minutes of ‘The End of Time’ was being filmed starting at nine sharp, Russell’s orders. “Get it done, and get the hell out of here,” he’d told David jokingly. Though David got the feeling maybe it wasn’t so much a joke as a dry observation of how it was.  
  
It felt like a weight was leaving David’s shoulders- as much as he loved being the Doctor, he was getting a bit tired of the near constant filming year after year, and he was ready to move on to other projects. He would miss it, of course, Doctor Who would always hold that bit of magic for him, but three series and hours’ worth of specials was more than enough and he had no regrets over leaving the show. After all, it was in good hands if Matt’s audition was anything to go by. And Moffat was a genius in his own right- he wouldn’t do the show wrong. Already, David felt detached walking around the set- rumour was that Matt’s sonic screwdriver was already in production.  
  
He shouldered down the narrow hallway towards the set that he’d be saying goodbye to soon, barely scraping by all of the people rushing through in the other direction. The day’s script was in his hand, and a cold coffee with several shots of dark espresso was in his other. He was just taking the time to review his part and indulge his sweet tooth while on the way to wardrobe. They would snatch both out of his hands once he arrived, of course, couldn’t have coffee anywhere near the clothes…  
  
But as everyone knows, when you’re looking at something other than what’s in front of you while you walk, only disaster can occur. Disaster hit David rather suddenly in the form of a young man wearing a dark button-down oxford and tight blue jeans, with a long green and white scarf, and too much floppy hair.  
  
“Oh!” was the only warning David had before he was sprawled against a wall with coffee and Matt Smith all over him. He was trying to hold the other male up, while cursing his now stained script and his freezing hand still gripping the almost-drained cup.  
  
“Damn it, I’m so bloody sorry Matt, I really am, let me-”  
  
“Oh no, it’s alright, going to wardrobe anyways, should‘ve been looking, I got lost-”  
  
“Damn it’s all on your jacket! I’m so sorry, sorry…”  
  
They both kept awkwardly apologizing to one another, uselessly brushing the bits of ice from themselves and finally managing to stand up straight. David’s coffee, or at least the two inches that still sloshed the bottom of the cup uselessly, was kindly offered to Matt, who blushed and wrapped a damp hand around it.  
  
“I really feel like an arse, now. Aw, god your shirt is ruined!” David quickly tried to sweep a few droplets away, only succeeding in smearing them in more. He groaned.  
  
Matt was taking it all extremely well, standing there sipping at David’s leftover coffee almost thoughtfully, scrunching his nose and then smiling at the sharp tang of espresso.  
  
“If you’d like to make it up to me, there’s an empty room with a lock right there,” he quipped jokingly, pointing across the hall with the cup. David looked at him strangely for a moment before tugging him towards the storage room by the scarf. Matt panicked.  
  
“Ah, you do know I was only joking right? What are you doing David?”  
  
The other man didn’t say anything, just pulled Matt into the room and closed the door. A dim, orange light was on, casting shadows on their faces. Matt appeared rather scared.  
  
The click of a lock pierced the silence, and David smiled. Matt found it rather creepy.  
  
“If this is some sort of weird initiation-” Matt gulped, backing into the wall as David approached.  
  
“Oh nah, just me helping you clean up.” David looked and sounded as cheerful as ever, and promptly began stripping Matt of his scarf, button-down and undershirt. The boy stood there shivering slightly, skin still damp with splashes of David’s coffee. The chill of the room certainly wasn’t helping matters either. Matt tried to hide what little of his chest he could with one hand, still holding the coffee with the other.  
  
“Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never kissed a boy before,” David muttered. “I’ve seen those pictures Matt, this isn’t any worse.” He dipped his head down, gently tracing his tongue over a patch of coffee-flavored skin near a nipple.  
  
“God, David that was on stage, oooooh god.” He didn’t fight too much. Even put his hands hesitantly on David’s shoulders and held on for dear life. David simply ignored him and continued as he was, following wet trails from pectoral to navel, crouched now in front of Matt. Aside from moaning at the unwanted attention, he didn’t do much else. Just stood there, shaking and slightly aroused, cock only half-hard, letting David do whatever he wanted.  
  
Which turned out to be shoving his hand down Matt’s tight trousers, grabbing lightly at the cotton-encased bulge. He sucked up Matt’s hesitant moans into his own mouth, amused at the whole situation. It’s not so much that he was attracted to men, (otherwise he would have taken Barrowman up on the offer of a threesome long ago), but this man in particular had a strange pull. David felt inclined to explore, which was probably a rash decision, but oh well!  
  
Both men leaned against each other for support, Matt rocking gently into the hand now wrapped around his naked arousal (which now jutted obscenely out of his half-open flies), David thrusting just slightly into Matt’s denim-covered thigh. They didn’t take very long to reach a climax with simultaneous moans, and David found himself on his knees cleaning that off of Matt as well.  
  
He was nothing if not thorough. David always cleaned up his messes.  
  
“Oh god, David, stop!” Matt’s fingers wound into the older man’s hair, trying to get that devilish wetness out of his groin, but instead of pulling David’s head away from down there, he pushed it closer. David’s rough tongue made quick work of the sticky white mess, and he gently redressed Matt (who was now slumping bonelessly against a stack of boxes, still holding onto the cup of coffee for dear life with trembling fingers), even tying the scarf back around the boy’s lovely neck.  
  
“Come on, we’ve got to get to wardrobe. Your hair looks a mess.” David tugged Matt along by his free hand, both of them smiling (albeit a hesitant one on Matt’s part) as they left the hall and room behind them.


End file.
